


I Am Too

by arysa13



Series: prompts filled (bellarke) [31]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Exes, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Clarke has been trying to pretend she doesn't miss Bellamy, but she really really does.





	I Am Too

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the song I Am Too by Runaway June
> 
> prompt: “my little sisters bf is a programmer. He made an app for her that has a button on it and when she presses it, a light on his room start to blink to let him know that she wants his attention” and i soooooo thought of an ex bellarke au. Like clarke is tired of that nonsense and wants bellamy back

It’s so loud in the bar that Clarke can barely hear herself think, let alone hear Monty trying to talk to her. It’s some god-awful live band that apparently plays here regularly, although all they seem to know how to play are depressing country songs.

It’s not their usual spot, for obvious reasons (the terrible band), but Clarke can’t risk going back to The Dropship, in case she runs into someone she doesn’t want to run into. Namely, her ex, Bellamy. Not because she’s afraid of seeing him, or she’s not over him or anything. That’s definitely not it. She’s just being considerate. She doesn’t want to make things awkward if he’s there trying to hook up with someone and she happens to be there too.

Yet even though Clarke knows Bellamy would never be caught dead in a bar like Sanctum (which may have been the reason she chose it), her heartrate picks up every time someone with his vague colouring or body type walks in the door, as if it might be him. As if she wants it to be him.

“I can’t hear a thing you’re saying!” she shouts at Monty. He gestures to the empty glass in front of her, and she assumes he’s asking if she wants another. She’s had three in the last hour, and honestly, it’s not doing enough.

The band starts up another mopey country song, and even though she hates it, she feels it tug on her heart strings. She’s not thinking of Bellamy, she’s absolutely not thinking of Bellamy. She has no right to think of Bellamy, when she’s the one that ended things with him. And it’s not like there was anything _wrong_ with their relationship, it’s just that that’s what happens, right? Relationships end. And isn’t it better to end things when it’s still going good, rather than wait for it to all fall apart?

“I’ll get them,” Clarke says, though she knows there is no way Monty can hear her.

The bartender takes a while to serve her, and because it’s not their usual place she actually has to ask for what she wants. She comes back to the table with Monty’s beer, her wine, and four shots of vodka. The band has finished their second set and are having a break, so it’s a little quieter now.

Monty raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t realise it was that kind of night,” he says.

“Yeah, well, I need something to drown out the sound of the band.”

“That’s the only thing you’re trying to drown out?” he asks knowingly. Not that he _knows_ anything at all.

Clarke throws back one of the shots, quickly chasing it with a gulp of wine. “Are you going to have one or not?”

“I really don’t want one, but I know if I don’t then you’ll just drink them all yourself.”

“You are correct.”

“You should just call him.”

Clarke downs another shot. “Who?” she asks, feigning ignorance, screwing up her face at the taste of the vodka.

“You know who.”

“I don’t want to call him. It’s over. I want it to be over. I’ve moved on.”

“I don’t think you have.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know you refuse to go back to The Dropship. I know you hate the band because every song they play reminds you of Bellamy. And I know you’re using alcohol to try and forget about him.”

Tears well in her eyes, and she grabs another shot and swallows it down. She reaches for the last one, and Monty catches her wrist, taking the shot from her and drinking it himself.

“It’s for your own good,” he says, placing the shot glass back on the table.

Clarke slouches back in her chair sullenly. The stupid tears that formed won’t go away, and she tries to wipe them away before Monty can see, before they spill down her cheeks. Of course he notices though, and he wraps his arm around her, rubbing her arm soothingly.

“Everything reminds me of him,” she whispers. “I didn’t think I’d be so miserable without him.”

“So call him,” Monty urges.

“I can’t,” Clarke says. “I’m the one that broke up with him. He probably hates me. It’s my fault I’m not with him so I deserve to suffer without him.”

“You do not deserve to suffer. And I thought you said it was mutual?”

Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Then that’s even more reason to call him. He’s probably miserable without you too.”

Clarke shakes her head. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“You could just use that app I made you guys,” Monty suggests, smirk playing across his lips.

The app was Bellamy’s idea, and he’d enlisted the help of Monty to get it to work, since Bellamy himself has always been shitty with technology at the best of times. Part of the reason they needed the app in the first place, since Bellamy would always let his phone go flat and forget to put it on the charger, making him impossible to reach. But with the app, all Clarke had to do was tap one button on her phone, and it would set off a blinking green light in his room, letting him know she needed him.

Clarke snorts. “As if he didn’t throw out that light as soon as we broke up.”

Monty shrugs. “Well, you need to do something. I’m worried about you.”

The band walks back onto the stage then, for their final set, just as those three shots of vodka really start to hit. Clarke’s head spins as the band starts to play _I Will Always Love You_.

“Bellamy hates this song,” Clarke mutters. Somehow it’s louder than it was before. Somehow her heart is louder too, and she can’t stand to be here a second longer.

She stands up, and the room spins. Monty grabs her arm, and she looks down at him, but she can’t make out what he’s saying. She shakes her head, and he stands up too. He keeps his hand on her arm as they walk towards the exit.

“I was planning on driving home, but I guess that’s out the window now,” Monty says, pulling out his phone to order an Uber. “And you’re _definitely_ too drunk to drive.”

“I think I’m going to walk.”

“Clarke, you can’t walk. It’s way too far.”

“But I always walk.”

“Yeah, but that was when we were going to a bar two blocks from your house, and Bellamy would always walk you home anyway.”

Clarke pouts. She knows Monty is right, but it doesn’t mean she likes it. She lets Monty bundle her into an Uber, manages not to throw up in the backseat, then basically falls out of it when it reaches her house.

She fumbles with the key in the door, and it takes her way too long to get inside. Then she crawls into bed, still fully dressed, shoes included.

She thinks the alcohol should put her straight to sleep, but she lies awake, empty, and unbearably lonely. Bellamy used to stay over every time they went out drinking. God, she can’t get a second of peace without thinking of him. All she wants is for him to be lying beside her, his skin on her skin.

Her phone is already clutched to her chest, and she holds it up in front of her face, unlocking it with her thumb. She opens the app Monty made for her, and stares at the glowing red button. If she wasn’t drunk, she probably wouldn’t even consider pressing it. But she is drunk, and she’s lonely, and she’s been missing him for way too long.

Anyway, he probably doesn’t even still have the light connected up. What would he need it for?

She presses her thumb against the button. Just to see. Just in case he’s missing her too.

A minute passes, then two. She’s about to close the app and try to get some sleep, but then her phone starts ringing, and she almost drops it on her face.

Bellamy. Her heart races.

She hits the answer button, and tentatively puts the phone to her ear.

“You’re calling me,” she says. As if she might be dreaming the whole thing.

“The light in my room is blinking like crazy. Did you—” he doesn’t finish his sentence. Like he’s not sure if he wants to know if it was on purpose or not.

Clarke swallows. The sound of his voice sets her whole body alight. “I’m a little drunk,” she admits.

“I am too.”

“Monty and I went to this new place called Sanctum. You would have hated it.”

“Not The Dropship?”

“No, I—I figured it was your place.”

“I figured it was yours.”

So he’s avoiding her too. For the same reasons she’s avoiding him?

“Clarke,” Bellamy whispers. “Why did you press the button?”

Clarke dabs at the tears forming in her eyes with her fingertip. She breathes out slowly, trying to make her voice steady. “Why did you answer?”

“You needed me.”

“But we’re not together anymore.”

“No,” Bellamy agrees. “We’re not.”

God, she wishes she could tell what he was thinking.

“Why aren’t we together?” Clarke says, and her voice is shaking now, trying to hold back tears.

“You wanted it to be over.”

“I know,” Clarke whispers.

“You’re either in love or you’re not, isn’t that what you said?”

“I did say that,” Clarke says.

“And you’re not,” Bellamy says flatly.

Tears stream down her face, and she tries to swallow down the lump in her throat. “What if I am though?” she whispers.

“What if you are what?” he asks, as if they might have changed the subject between the last thing he said and now.

“In love. With you.”

Silence.

“Bellamy, say something.”

“I’m at your house.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I started walking when I saw the light blinking and now I’m at your house. Can I come in? Your keys are still in the door.”

Clarke sits bolt upright, quickly wiping her face with her fingers. “You can come in.”

He hangs up the phone, and Clarke pulls her own phone away from her ear. She hears the front door close, then footsteps coming down the hall. A figure appears in her doorway. Clarke watches him as he silently crosses the room, slow and lumbering, and lies down on the bed beside her.

She lies back down beside him, facing him. She can just make out his features in the dark.

“You’re here,” she says.

“Are you sure?” he whispers. “I need you to be sure.”

Clarke nods. “I’m sure,” she whispers back. “I’ve been so stupid. I didn’t know until I left you how much I loved you. I’ve missed you so much. So yes, yes I am sure I’m in love with you.”

He stretches his neck forward, and presses a kiss against her forehead. Then one on the tip of her nose. “I am too,” he whispers. “In love with you.”

His lips find hers in the dark, and tears roll down her cheeks again, from happiness this time. From overwhelming love for him, and relief that he loves her too, and she doesn’t have to be without him any longer.


End file.
